


right hand to god

by rohkeutta



Series: a pocketful of mumbles [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bickering, Cold Weather, Cuddling & Snuggling, Heavy Petting, M/M, Masturbation, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 12:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12507420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohkeutta/pseuds/rohkeutta
Summary: Steve strokes his stomach idly, and Bucky closes his eyes and tries to relax further into Steve’s hold and stop the occasional shivers. Then Steve’s hand drifts lower, pressing against Bucky’s groin through the layers, and he asks in a barely audible voice, “Want me to warm you up properly?”“I’m not getting out of this damn bag just so we can fool around,” Bucky whispers back.





	right hand to god

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Правая рука Господа](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15970931) by [Christoph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christoph/pseuds/Christoph), [fandom_Starbucks_Roles_TwoSexyMen_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Starbucks_Roles_TwoSexyMen_2018/pseuds/fandom_Starbucks_Roles_TwoSexyMen_2018)



> MCU kink bingo 2017 fill, square 18: "Setting: Outdoors".
> 
> Huge thanks to Alby for beta, and Fox for encouragement! Title is from The Killers' The Man.

It’s cold.

Normally Bucky wouldn’t mind: chill weather gets his brain working and encourages him to be active, so he usually gets shit done. Steve’s healthy as a horse, now, and runs warmer than a hot water bottle so Bucky doesn’t have to stress about him catching his death, either.

But after his rescue from Kreischberg he’s been feeling cold all the time - even in the summer heat - and it’s late December in Schwartzwald and fucking _freezing._ They’re camped for the night, for once in actual tents, and despite being bundled in his thick clothes and woolen sleeping bag, Bucky’s teeth are chattering.

It’s pitch black in the tent. It must be the small hours of the night: Dugan is snoring somewhere, faintly, and his guard was supposed to end at midnight. Steve and Bucky’s tent is a little distance away from the others, mostly because Steve’s a goddamn fretter. It has nothing to do with the fact that Bucky gets tired earlier than the others because he usually wakes up in the middle of the night after a nightmare and can’t fall asleep again. _Nothing._ Steve’s just mother-henning him.

Something snaps outside and Bucky flinches, tensing up. It takes him a minute to realize that it was just the frozen branches and not somebody trying to sneak up on them. It’s Jim’s guard, and the dry, powdery snow would betray any steps easily, so they’re safe for the time being.

Steve shifts in his sleep, rolling closer. Bucky tries to curl up even tighter, scoot back towards Steve in hopes of catching some of his body heat, but he’s shivering too much for it to actually help.

Fuck Nazis, and fuck the German winter.

Steve shifts again, smacks his mouth, and then his hand moves, groping blindly for Bucky. The fucker is sleeping with his arms _outside_ of the sleeping bag. He ought to just give Bucky the damn bag, it’s not like he _needs_ it.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs as his hand hits Bucky’s flank, and then he rolls to his side, leaning in. “Buck?”

“What?” Bucky mumbles back, but it comes out as _w-w-w-what._

“Are you cold?”

“W-w-what does it sound like?” Bucky whispers back, acerbic, but the fucking stutter ruins his waspish tone.

Steve scoots even closer, tugging Bucky back with the hand on his hip so that they’re spooned together. Steve’s radiating heat even through two sleeping bags and their clothes, and Bucky can’t help but sigh and lean back, desperate for the warmth. Steve wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist and noses the flap of the sleeping bag Bucky’d pulled over his head like a chrysalis.

“Any better?” Steve whispers, and Bucky makes a noise in agreement, relaxing from his tight fetal position.

Steve strokes his stomach idly, and Bucky closes his eyes and tries to relax further into Steve’s hold and stop the occasional shivers. Then Steve’s hand drifts lower, pressing against Bucky’s groin through the layers, and he asks in a barely audible voice, “Want me to warm you up properly?”

“I’m not getting out of this damn bag just so we can fool around,” Bucky whispers back. “And Jim’ll hear.”

“Nobody said anything about having to get out,” Steve says, his hand pressing down more intently, rubbing a little, and Bucky exhales, his dick stirring. “You just need to be quiet, I’ll take care of you.”

Bucky uncurls further, pushing back against Steve’s chest. “You horny fuck,” he whispers. “But yeah. Yeah.”

Steve chuckles softly against the back of his neck, rolling his hips into Bucky’s ass. “Put your hand down your pants, Buck.”

“I’m swooning,” Bucky says drily, but unbuttons his pants and underwear, pulls off his glove with his teeth, licks his palm and worms his cold hand into his shorts. He hisses when he palms his dick, adjusting himself. His fingers are fucking _icy._

“You love me,” Steve murmurs back, covers Bucky’s hand with his own and starts to rub slowly. The pressure makes Bucky’s hand move on his cock, like he were jerking himself off, and--

Steve squeezes, and a small, surprised sound escapes from Bucky’s mouth. His dick starts to harden, his blood rushing towards the source of the pleasure curling in his belly.

Steve shushes him, the _fucker,_ and Bucky bites his lip, letting Steve work his magic. He hasn’t been able to get himself off in a few weeks with the running around and living in each other’s pockets and the _goddamn cold,_ and the touch feels so good that it’s difficult to keep quiet. It would be even better if Steve could jerk him off himself, but Bucky’s not an idiot and he’s not opening his sleeping bag to let cold air in just for a handjob.

Steve picks up a steady but torturously slow rhythm, his broad palm controlling Bucky’s hand easily as it kneads his dick. Bucky’s breathing is getting heavier, and he pushes his hips forward, seeking more pressure. The callouses on his palm feel incredible on his cock, already leaking, slicking up the way. Steve grinds against his ass again, like he’s getting off by getting _Bucky_ off, and Bucky thinks about how they would do it if they were indoors, with an actual bed and a heater. Maybe Steve would slick up his cock and drive it between Bucky’s tightly-crossed thighs, dragging against Bucky’s sensitive perineum, his hand hot and coarse on Bucky’s dick. Maybe they’d prolong it as much as possible, Steve’s fingers speeding up and then slowing down again, keeping Bucky teetering on the edge.

Bucky’s breath hitches and Steve gropes him harder, a relentless pressure making Bucky squeeze his cock harder, fuck up into his fist.

Bucky could think of a thousand ways for this to go if the surroundings were different; fuck, just if the weather wasn’t so bloody frigid. But this is what they have now: freezing temperatures, a chilly pallet under their bedrolls, just the thin tent fabric separating them from the rest of their squad. And yet Steve’s making most of the poor conditions just to make Bucky feel good, knowing exactly how to make the white noise in Bucky’s head quiet down for a moment.

Steve shifts his grip, and Bucky’s palm rubs over the flushed head of his dick, making him inhale sharply. He’s getting so close, his hips twitching with pleasure, and he bites his lip hard to keep from moaning.

“You warmed up yet?” Steve’s breathing is a little too heavy to pass for normal thanks to him rutting against Bucky with short, sharp movements, but there’s a familiar smug tone in his whisper. Bucky wants to slug him, and then maybe kiss him.

He shushes Steve instead, because he can be an asshole, too. Steve squeezes tighter, gripping Bucky through the sleeping bag and three layers of clothing, and Bucky gasps, spilling over his hand without a warning.

The pressure on his dick eases up but doesn’t disappear completely as Steve rubs him through the orgasm, before Bucky slumps back against him and says, “Jesus.”

“Good?” Steve murmurs, nosing his way inside Bucky’s blanket cocoon to press a kiss on Bucky’s ear.

“Yeah, asshole,” Bucky says. He feels warm all over, sated and drowsy as hell, his toes tingling, but his hand is still awkwardly covered with spunk. Thankfully his shorts aren’t soiled, because the last thing he would’ve wanted is to sleep in wet pants.

Steve’s hand moves away to search for something in the darkness, and when Bucky pulls his spunked-up hand from his shorts, grimacing, Steve gives him a _handkerchief,_ like a fucking gentleman.

Bucky doesn’t admit a thing, but he’s oddly touched.

He wipes his hand and tosses the handkerchief somewhere towards Steve’s pack before pulling his glove back on, buttoning his trousers up and tucking his hands into his armpits. Steve’s arm comes back, settling on Bucky’s waist, and he curls around Bucky’s back like a parenthesis. His hips are still.

“Hey, do you need me to-” Bucky asks, sleep already crawling up his legs. It’s polite to return the favor, even if he hates the mere thought of his arm being outside the sleeping bag.

“No, um.” Steve’s probably blushing in the dark. “It’s all right.”

It clicks then, and Bucky can’t help but laugh, low and soft. “You came in your pants?”

“Hey, like you’ve got room to talk!” Steve tries to sound wounded, but there’s a tell-tale smile in his voice.

Bucky laughs again, but burrows even closer, slipping towards sleep. “I got a _handjob,_ pal. You were just grinding.”

“Well, you do have a nice ass,” Steve whispers diplomatically and tucks his nose behind Bucky’s ear. “Go the fuck to sleep, Buck.”

It’s the warmest night Bucky’s had since he shipped out.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr's [here](http://rohkeutta.tumblr.com).


End file.
